


The Professional

by Dropsofarainbow219



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Partners, Drabble, It's a Teen rating but only just, M/M, Mild Smut, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, as it is i just wrote the scenes i really really wanted, consider this more of a character study, depending on your libido, or - Freeform, really this is a snapshot of a longer fic i would have loved to write if i had more time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 07:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16805920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dropsofarainbow219/pseuds/Dropsofarainbow219
Summary: Draco gets the job done. Harry gets Draco done.





	The Professional

**Author's Note:**

> I have less than a week until exams but I wrote this instead. Auror Drarry delights me.

It really all started when Draco was finally forced to use his patronus in the field.

No.

It _really_ all started when Draco got partnered with Harry fucking Potter half a year after passing his final Auror examinations.

I mean, if you wanted to be even fussier, the argument could likely be made that it really _really_ all started back on a certain Hogwarts Express at the tender age of eleven, but that set of misfortunes was firmly in the processed category and besides, another matter altogether. The present misfortune that was hanging vindictively over Draco’s head, like a cloud, or an evil levitating clown, was largely a result of the somewhat aleatory circumstance last week, in which Dementors had appeared in a mission that was supposed to be very much, well, Dementor- _free._

They had been in a warehouse, tracking down an especially nasty strand of potions that had effects dubiously close to the imperious curse when ingested, when there had been some of a kafuffle outside. Harry had gone. He should have been able to deal with it – there were only two of them after all – lower rankings in the illicit chain, who the department had believed to be on a different rotation. As it so happened, as they later found out, there had been an extra precautionary spell in place – body heat sensor, incredibly technical, likely installed by a senior – and the long and short of it was that the two brutes had decided _Dementors_ , of all things, for reinforcement.

Even that, Harry should have handled. He had handled far more, even before becoming one of the best Aurors in the department. But some son of a bitch had managed to fling out an _Intermissius Ossius_ before Harry had got them both in a full body bind, and it wasn’t exactly like Draco was going to wait for _every damn bone in his body_ to heal just so Harry could be the one dealing with the two scraggly Dementors.

It wasn’t all that easy, in truth, to cast a patronus with the sickening crack of Harry Potter’s body playing background, but Draco was good at his job. Very good. So when his patronus emerged, it was no surprise to see its full form.

The stag drove the Dementors out of view, did a perimeter of the warehouse, and then trotted back into Draco’s wand. Draco cast a few quick pain-relieving charms on Harry, though their effects were likely minimal, obliviated the henchmen, and apparated straight into the emergency level of the Auror recovery ward. If he hadn’t been such a professional, he might’ve obliviated Harry too. If Harry hadn’t been making these awful, low sobs at the time, he might’ve damned his professionalism.

As it was, all he did was make sure Harry was stable, and promptly left before he could regain consciousness. It had been a long enough day.

-

“Draco,” said Harry, sitting at his desk a fortnight later.

“Ah,” said Draco calmly, as he splashed coffee down his robes. “Harry.”

“Do you need –” Harry straightened up, but Draco was already waving him away.

“Nope, not at all.” As he said it, however, the coffee was already disappearing from the fabric. Harry leaned back. Draco made a point of being very busy with his putting down of things.

Fucking wandless magic. As if Draco wasn’t forced to observe Potter’s insane power enough on the field.

“How are you feeling?”

Harry winced, but his tone was light. “Fine. Fit. Dementor-ready.”

Oh, Lord. At least, Draco supposed dully, he had given him time to put down his coffee. It was more than he could have suspected.

He hadn’t been sure when Harry would bring it up, which was why he had only gone to visit him once. It was one of the times Weasley had been there. Harry was, well, _Harry_ , but even he, as Draco had predicted, had the sensitivity to not say anything with Weasley there.

“Shacklebolt sends his wishes,” Draco had said in the ward, stepping forward only to pass Harry some of the papers he had been working on since the incident. He had kept his eyes trained down on the carefully drawn diagrams. “I figured you might want these, considering your dysfunctional relationship with inactivity.”

“Thanks,” Harry had said. His eyes had been burning a hole into Draco’s skull.

His eyes were burning a hole into Draco’s skull right now. Draco privately reinforced his legilimency walls, not that there was much point now, he supposed.

“Draco,” Harry began again, feeling in his tone. Draco looked at the wall. It was coming. He was going to let it come. “I…”

“I got us a lead on the potion,” Draco said abruptly. He strolled over to his desk and started pulling out files from his bag. “It’s got ingredients traced from the Amazon. I didn’t realise before, because the strand of leaf skeletons used are similar to a more common sibling in Scotland, but I tracked it down, and it’s entirely possible that there could be a bigger dealer located there. It’s likely they’d have some sort of set up near a rainforest. It would provide good coverage, and rare ingredients are generally prioritised. I think we should set up some tracking charms and take a good look at –”

“Draco,” said Harry.

“ – the maps. We’ll find what we can from previously gathered intel and go from there. When you’re ready we can head back into the field and see if we can get access to the shipping systems and apparition points.” He looked over at Harry. “Is your condition approved for overseas apparition yet?”

“Draco,” said Harry, and there was something horrifically soft in his expression. “You’re rambling.”

“No,” snapped Draco. “I’m doing my job. I’ve always been doing my job.” He sat down. “I suggest you do too.”

-

Eight hours later and they had filtered down potential locations to investigate down to three options. Well, Draco had. Harry had also been making use of every other interval to pinpoint Draco with a dark look, which was slowly, but determinedly, driving Draco to sheer madness.

He pushed back from his desk and carefully stood up, packing away his papers. He pulled on his robes carefully, folding down the hems.

Harry was looking at him. Draco finally gave in and glanced over.

“You heading?” asked Harry.

“Yes.” He smoothed his hand over his bag strap.

Harry pursed his lips, and then pushed back on his desk with his foot so that his chair was balancing on its back two legs. His gaze drew up the length of Draco.

“Wanna come over?” He asked.

For fuck’s sake.

Draco looked at him. Then he looked away. He was about to lose his temper. He did not like to lose his temper at work.

“Draco.” Harry had the chair back on all four legs. He was sitting forward, earnest, his hands resting on his parted legs. Draco looked away again. “Come on. It’ll be –”

“What the fuck do you think I am?” His voice was tight.

“Uh.” Harry had frozen. “I thought we were, you know. Friends.”

“Do you normally bootycall your friends?” Draco sneered, then felt himself blanch.

“Draco.” Harry’s dark brow had lifted. There was a hint of red in his brown skin. “I wasn’t, uh, bootycalling you. I was – I asking you on a date.”

All the blood rushed back into Draco’s face. “What?”

“You know.” Harry rubbed his hands on his trousers. “Dinner and stuff. Talking.”

“Right,” said Draco. He balled his hands into fists.

“Don’t look like that. I’m serious. We could even go out, if you like.”

“Could we?” His tone was dry.

Harry was looking at his fists. Sometimes Draco forgot how well Harry Potter had come to know him. It was easy to forget, but then again, maybe that was the way Harry Potter wanted it. Both as the abused child he had been, and the ludicrously infamous adult he had become, being able to hide in plain sight was a skill that was surely of great use. It was a skill Draco had only picked up on later. They were both recognisable, him and Potter, but where Draco was concerned there tended to be rather less rose throwing.

The real sweet to the bitter was that Draco had had a happy childhood, he supposed. He glanced up at Harry’s face from under his lashes.

Draco had read about his childhood in the various biographies that had come out. Everybody knew, by now.

No wonder the poor boy operated on such extremes. Draco forced himself to take a breath, to relax his hands.

Harry peered at him. His eyes were striking against the black of his brow.

“I thought…” he began slowly, clearly mulling things over. “I thought that would be something you’d like. I clean up nice, you know.”

Then he smirked, that playful arrogance completely refreshing his features. Draco dropped his eyes to the hem of his t-shirt, just visible above the clasp of work robes. His pulse pushed forward in his throat. He was truly so done for.

“You don’t,” he said, pushing the words out, “have to do things I like. Simply because…”

He had to break off for a breath. “Because you feel that it’s somehow moral, or – or a kindness. Or because we are closely associated colleagues. I am a professional, you know.”

“I know.” The words were light.

“Harry,” said Draco, looking up again into his eyes. “You don’t have to do this because we are friends.”

He held Harry’s eyes for a long time. Waiting for a change, or some kind of indication, perhaps.

“Draco,” said Harry, and his voice had the gravelly edge to it that was so loved. “I’m asking you out because I want you, you idiot. Can’t you tell?”

Draco felt his whole body heat. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Harry had stood up and was coming closer. Draco wasn’t sure he could stand it. Harry smiling again, a faint curl in left of his cheek, and he was leaning against Draco’s desk, one hip casually dipped. It forced his robes to fall off the side of his torso. He was wearing jeans, of course.

“I would have thought you, of all people, would have figured that out,” he continued in that same low voice. His gaze was fond, Draco realised. He felt it wrap around him like perfume.

“Surely I, of all people, would have been the most inhibited to that fact.” He couldn’t help leaning forward.

“Tell me more about this inhibited business,” said Harry, and held out his hand. It was a firm, masculine hand. Draco looked, for only a beat.

“Alright, Harry,” he said softly, and took it. The world popped out of existence.

-

It rushed back in the form of the corridor of Grimmauld Place. Harry had dropped his hand; he was already sauntering down to the kitchen, shrugging off his robes. His shoulder blades were insistent against the thin cotton of his shirt. Draco had to blink his eyes closed for a moment.

“Fancy a drink?”

Draco opened his eyes. “I don’t suppose you have any Goblin distilled Cognac, do you?”

He had made his way down and was now leaning against the doorframe. He didn’t dare take off his own robes.

Harry waved his hand carelessly. A few bottles hovered above the table, rotating in the air so that their labels were facing forwards for inspection.

He hummed. “No Goblin stuff, but will Elf do? I could have a look in the pantry. God knows what’s down there.”

“It’ll do.”

Harry finally looked over at him. His eyes were sparkling.

“I would have thought you would be fussier.”

“Whatever gave you such an impression?”

Draco crossed his arms, keeping his face carefully blank. He didn’t trust himself with this, not even a little bit. He had waited far too long. He had wanted far too much.

“Hey, don’t do that.” Harry straightened up. “Come on, Malfoy. I’m not going to attack you.”

Draco rather wished he would. He kept his face even blanker.

“Come off it, it’s just me. You can have a seat, you know.”

“Oh, I can, can I?”

Draco walked over. He felt aware of every inch of his body, the way he was being watched. He hopped onto the edge of the table, just to make a show of being at home, and then, in his dullest voice, read the label of the Cognac.

“Fifteen ten, well isn’t that just impressive? And to think, this is what is just sitting on hand for you. Now one thinks it rather would be worth a trip to the pantry.”

“Does one?” Harry smiled and crossed his arms. Draco didn’t appreciate what it did for his biceps. “Well, be my guest. You’re free to roam.”

“Am I?” asked Draco. “Am I free?”

Harry Potter had changed since Hogwarts. Something about him had darkened. It wasn’t that he’d become evil, or cruel, or cynical exactly. He still had his sense of humour, his Gryffindor temper, his general aura of chaos. But something in him had sharpened. He was a little more efficient, a little more patient – a little more sceptical. He had grown up.

Draco looked at him, and knew something was going to happen. He could feel his hands shaking. He too had gotten braver, but you could only build from the ground up.

Harry took a step towards him.

All Draco had wanted to do earlier was look away, but now it was like being trapped in a serpent’s gaze. Harry was in front of him, his hands reaching. Sitting down, he was taller. His hands were on Draco’s hips. His thumbs were curving around to press at the silk over Draco’s inner thighs. Slowly, slowly, they slid outwards, parting Draco’s legs.

“Do you want to be?” murmured Harry. His eyes were cast downwards.

Draco couldn’t remember the question. Harry’s hands were solid on Draco’s knees, and he couldn’t remember the question. Harry was stepping closer, and he was every answer.

“Harry, I –” he whispered, and Harry Potter kissed him.

He was warm, wet, sweet on his mouth. Draco sucked his bottom lip desperately, ran the tip of his tongue just under the top one. Harry’s tongue was in his mouth. He was inside him, inside him. Draco reached one hand up, delicately felt where Harry’s jaw was moving, and Harry pushed his legs open further. Draco almost orgasmed.

They kept kissing, one of Harry’s wonderful hands now cupping the back of Draco’s head, his fingers buried in white hair. Draco completely melted under his body. The other hand reached down and rubbed him through his trousers.

“Merlin,” Draco gasped, and broke off the kissing for a moment, his head helplessly thrown back. The kitchen ceiling looked strangely still. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

“Gryffindor,” Harry grunted out, but when Draco caught his expression he could see that he was teasing. The hand sneaked around to grab Draco’s ass, roughly pulling him tight against his own body. Draco could feel the strength, the softness in it. He tried to quieten the whine that escaped him.

“Tell me,” Harry continued, and _Oh Heavens_ , thought Draco, _he’s not a talker is he?_ “Do you like it long and slow?”

“I certainly like it long,” Draco said childishly, so overcome was he, and Harry just snorted and put his other hand on his ass.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

“I will not,” Draco protested in a rather higher pitch that was ideal, and wrapped his legs around Harry. Harry hoisted him higher. Merlin, he could really feel _all_ of him.

“I refuse to be the woman in this scenario.”

“I know you’re a man, Draco.” Harry raised a brow at him as he began to walk out of the kitchen. His eyes were glinting. “Besides, I would’ve thought you were more progressive than that.”

“I could say the same to you. Isn’t a little early to be giving orders?”

Harry’s eyes glinted brighter. “You tell me.”

Draco closed his eyes and tried not to think about the million and one fantasies he’d lived through. Harry, his hand around his throat. Harry, slamming him up against the wall. Harry, pushing him to his knees, and filling, filling him up entirely.

They were at the top of the stairs. Harry opened the door with a nod of his head and then Draco was being put down on a bed, so gently it was jarring. He lifted his head, trying to discern what was happening. Harry was taking off his shirt. Merlin.

“I always took you for a romantic,” Draco drawled, just for something to do. Merlin, there was Harry Potter’s torso.

Harry ran his gaze briefly over the bedframe. He was casually climbing over Draco, filling his vision with brown skin and stars, as if this was something they did all the time.

“I thought you’d like it better. You like to feel respected.”

“Ah, yes.” Draco rolled his eyes, which was a feat truly worth of notice. “Fucking is the apex of where I want to feel most respected.”

“Isn’t it?” Harry leaned down, his weight on his forearms, and rolled his body into Draco’s. Draco heard himself whimper like it was a far-off thing. All he could smell was Quidditch and sweat and home.

“You’re so –”

“So what?” Harry was laughing, but moaned on his next movement too. “So what, Draco?”

“ _Merlin_ – fucking good all the time, how are you so fucking _good_?”

“Dunno.” Harry’s hips were a heroic force. “Guess I’m just a light in the dark.” The words were offhand but Draco wasn’t quite so far gone that he missed the reference. He closed his eyes.

“Prick,” he muttered into Harry’s ear. He felt him grin against his shoulder.

“If you say so,” he replied, and reached between them. The world lit up like a charm.


End file.
